Underpants On The Outside

Hi there,

I owe you an apology.  We haven’t known each other long – about three hours now.  In three more hours or so we’ll be touching down in San Francisco.  Are you from San Fran?  I’m guessing you are – you don’t seem to be wearing very much makeup.

Sorry, I’m rambling.  This is just a bit awkward for me, but… here goes.

I’m sorry that I smell so badly.  I don’t know what happened.  I put on deodorant this morning, but I get a little nervous when I fly.  I didn’t realize how bad things were, but when I reached over to get my drink from the stewardess – oops, flight attendant – I couldn’t help but catch a whiff of myself.  I am really glad I’m not sitting directly to my left!  Unfortunately, you are, and for that I am sorry.

Have I smelled this bad the whole time? I can’t help but think of all the things I’ve ordered so far from the stewarde-oops, there I go again.  (I just thought of a funny name for them: “altitude wenches.”  Oh c’mon, that’s funny.  Don’t get your flannel panties in a bunch.)  There was the water, then the tea, then that cheese platter, then the second round of tea.  Then she’s gotta come around again afterwards to pick up the trash, and then it’s all, second verse, same as the first.

I should also apologize for having to get up to go to the bathroom so much.  Was that The Time Traveler’s Wife you were watching?  It looked intense.  Why was Rachel MacAdams crying?  In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best time for me to get up, but it’s all this tea, y’know?  Speaking of which, I’m going to need you to wake up now…

Okay, I’m back now.  I was debating whether to mention this, but I thought about it a bunch in the bathroom and I decided I should come clean.  (Sorry I kept you waiting – I didn’t realize you had followed me.)  It should come as no surprise by now that yes, it’s me who’s been farting.  Did you know people can become lactose intolerant in their later years? I’m starting to think that’s happening to me.  Side note: the cheese platter is surprisingly delicious for airplane food.

I hope you can forgive me.  Please understand: much like Eric Bana’s character in The Time Traveler’s Wife (or at least what I could gather without the sound) my body does things that I don’t understand, am unable to control, and have a negative impact on the women around me.  (But don’t get any ideas – I’m married!) I just hope my bodily issues don’t cause me to get shot by hunters.

Oh yeah: sorry for watching over your shoulder so much.  That really seemed to annoy you, though I don’t see what the big deal was.  Was that girl at the end his daughter?

- The Guy in 7F

P.S.  Please forward this to the girls in 6F and 8F.

I’m a big fan of 24, though most of the time I’m just impressed by how much Jack Bauer manages to squeeze into a day. To illustrate, I compare each hour of Jack’s day to the corresponding hour in my own day. Enjoy.

Jack’s Day, 8-9pm:

Last night, I had an awesome “throwback” 24-viewing experience, as I had the pleasure of watching it in the company of Ex-Roommate Mary.  Ex-Roommate Mary was part of the group that first introduced me to 24, and I still enjoy watching it in that group environment. Wonder Woman doesn’t watch the show, and each week I keep forgetting how fine the line is between “really awesome Jack Bauer impression” and “You’re being an asshole.  Now untie me and put the kitchen knife back in the drawer.”  At least Ex-Roommate Mary understands my humor.

The only downside to this arrangement was that Ex-Roommate Mary hadn’t seen the first four episodes.  Hm.  I wonder where she could read really long but somewhat amusing recaps of those epis- OH WAIT I’M TALKING ABOUT THIS SITE.  Do you know what it feels like to try and describe four hours of 24?  I guarantee the writing staff of the show doesn’t.  It’s not pleasant.

On that note… ON WITH THE SHOW!

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Okay, here’s my question:

Say I were to show up at an ex-girlfriend’s house.  I interrupt whatever she’s doing, but it’s important, I say – I have a message for her that she really needs to hear.

I admit that our breakup was tough on me.  A lot of the things she said hurt me at the time.  But after a while, I started to see what she was talking about.  I WAS taking her for granted. I HAD become boring and stale.  And if I was really being honest with myself, I couldn’t blame her for wanting to see other guys.

But things were different now.  Because of her I’d changed a lot of things about my life – I was getting out more, trying new things.  I wasn’t a different person, but I was a better person than I had been.  And I wanted her back.

Would that work?  HELL NO.  So then why do I want to try that new Domino’s pizza so badly! Why?!?  What did they do that I didn’t?

Well, they didn’t cry, for one.  But that just means they don’t love me as much as I loved her.  My hypothetical ex-girlfriend, that is.

Or maybe I should have painted my dick with garlic butter.

I’m a big fan of 24, though most of the time I’m just impressed by how much Jack Bauer manages to squeeze into a day. To illustrate, I compare each hour of Jack’s day to the corresponding hour in my own day. Enjoy.

Today, Life handed me the following pop quiz:

You’re standing there with your dick in your hands, and you’ve just said the words “I guess this is our special place.”

A) Where are you?

B) Who are you talking to?

C) What are you responding to?

After the test, I looked at the answer sheet.  The acceptable answers were:

A)    Your bedroom.

B)     A girl or guy (your choice).

C)    Having just lost your/taken their virginity.

Or

A)    Anywhere with snow.  Or a desert island.

B)     No one.  Just you and your penis.

C)    Having just signed your name with urine.

My answer?

A)    A men’s room.

B)     A co-worker.

C)    The statement: “we sure seem to meet in here a lot.”

I’m hoping for partial credit.

[Ed note: Special thanks go out to my zipper, which showed incredible comedic timing in choosing JUST THAT MOMENT to get stuck. Thanks, outlet mall pants!]

Alright, you know what time it is.  Like every season, Fox makes me work for it, with two two-hour episodes to open the season.  Let’s do this.

Jack’s Day, 4 – 5pm: For some reason, at the beginning of every season, they feel it necessary to remind people that “Events occur in real time.”  I think it’s safe to assume by now that everyone in America has taken a ride on this show’s one-trick pony.  That being said, I kinda wish I could experience the unadulterated joy of someone who has been struggling through the show for four or five years (but always turning on the first episode twenty seconds too late) and finally… in one glorious moment… it all makes sense.

This season, Jack is in New York.  I live in New York, and there have been a ton of ads with the tag line, “This season, New York gets Jacked.”  Even if “jacked” wasn’t a euphemism for “mugged”, this is still a phenomenally poor piece of copy writing.  Let me put it this way – knowing Jack Bauer, would you ever want your son or daughter getting “jacked?”  No, because it would either involve death, dismemberment, or semen in the face.  Well, don’t do that to the place where I live, Fox.

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Sorry, everybody. I had to run to the john really quick, make a few phone calls, you know how it is. What’d I miss?

Oh. 2009. Well, whatever. Personally, I think 2009 was a total bunk year, and I’m glad it’s gone. I’m racking my brain, but other than a few good Lost episodes in there and the fact that I finally got around to watching Battlestar Galactica (which was amazing)… I got nothing.

I will say this: when the most memorable things about your year are a couple of television shows, it’s safe to assume you just got fatter. What’s weird is I’m not that much bigger or  heavier than I was on January 18, 2009, and yet somehow I’m fatter none the less. 2009 made my soul fat.

But I’m not here to dwell on the negative. 2010 is here and I’ve got a good feeling about this one*, so the Underpants is back in business! As someone who spent months debating whether to start his wedding vows with “In all likelihood…”, I’m not one who likes to make promises, but I’m going to post much more often this year. Count on it!  (Don’t count on it.) I’m also bringing back my 24 posts, as well as posting on the final season of Lost, because this year, the Supermodel is finally going to let us hit that.  (She’d damn well better.)

Auld Lang Syne, everybody.

*You gotta like any year that starts with you waking up to the following text: “You punched mark in the chest, me in the chest and arm and bit Katie in the ass. Well done.” For those of you who don’t know, my wife is not named Katie.  Well done indeed, me.